Nemesis
by little starling fly
Summary: When John Constantine finally dares to get close to someone, the demons take their revenge. JCOC
1. i

Introductory Author's Note: I did intend on updating my last piece, but I have a feeling I'll update this one more. I promise! This is not a oneshot and I fully intend on continuing it. For my last piece, I had ideas flying around my head. For this, I know (almost) exactly what I want to do and where I'm going. I've already started writing the second installment, so no fear.

Nemesis is the remorseless Greek goddess of revenge.

This takes place pre-movie. I'm putting the 2005 movie on an indefinite time line, and putting this about five or seven years before that. (So it's pre-Chaz, also. Sorry Chastines!) So it takes place in the "present", and the movie takes place in the "future". That way I don't have to muck around with dates. That will seriously confuse this author. Speaking of which, this particular author owns no rights to Constantine, or Hellblazer, or Warner Bros., or any such thing. The only thing I own is the sick fantasy world constantly whirling through my head. I've taken the leisure of transcribing this sick fantasy world, and here it is!

It's rated M so that I may take all leeway with language, violence, and sexuality without having to worry about changing the rating. C'mon, folks, this is Constantine. He is a sexy, foul-mouthed, demon-fighting machine. That equals rating M. Speaking of sexuality, any Constantine-related relationship is going to take place between Constantine and an outside character who you will be introduced to shortly. :)

* * *

"There are certain qualifications for the job. One: transportation. You—" 

"I'm cool with that! I just got my driver's license—well, I mean—"

"I'm only going through this once, so I advise you not to interrupt me. The second qualification: sight."

John Constantine took a drag of his cigarette and made eye contact with a woman sitting at the bar. The cretin he was interviewing for the position of apprentice and driver disrupted his concentration. _Why is he talking_? he thought.

"Chief, I got so much sight! I been seeing since I can remember. Uh, there's a, a half demon over your shoulder and, and—" He gestured animatedly, but was obviously floundering about in a lie.

"The last qualification is that you have to not annoy the shit out of me."

The man paused. "Huh?"

"Leave." Constantine exhaled a cloud of smoke into his face, but the interviewee didn't leave. He sighed, stubbed his half smoked cigarette out on the table, and reached slowly into his jacket as if to produce a gun. The man saw this and bolted from the table.

Constantine snapped his Zippo lighter open and relit the crooked cigarette, with little success. Thankfully, though, the bluff worked. He didn't have anything inside his jacket.

He looked over at the bar, but the woman there was gone. He took a deep drag and rubbed his forehead tiredly. The state of California refused to give him a driver's license because he couldn't provide a car or proof of financial responsibility. Exorcism was apparently not a valid occupation. He would have to get over his distaste for most other people and hire a driver. Training an apprentice was the only reasonable way to attract a driver who didn't demand an exorbitant price, but most of the people interested in becoming exorcists, he had to admit, were freaks.

Just as he took another drag, the woman from the bar sat down at his table.

"John Constantine." She set her wine glass down and folded her hands on the table. "My name is Bethany Grey. You're looking for someone to fill an apprentice position, and I'd like that to be me."

Constantine examined the woman more closely. She had rosy, soft-looking lips and her naked eyes were large, brown, and rimmed with fragile eyelashes. Her dark hair was pulled gracefully back into a loose ponytail and contrasted well against her pale skin. Underneath her leather jacket, she wore an off-white blouse and smooth black pants.

"Okay, Bethany Grey. First explain how you know who I am and what I'm doing here." Constantine wasn't terribly alarmed. He just wanted to know where she picked up on his tracks so that he could do a better job of covering them.

"You may do well to conceal your footsteps, Constantine, but you're connected to several occult circles, and they aren't difficult to find. You both get your exorcism information from the same sources." Constantine made a mental note to get on Father Hennessey's case about slipping information to the occultists. "Besides, in the hour you've been here so far, you've smoked ten cigarettes. That, and your lighter is very distinctive." She took a drink of her wine and held his gaze over the rim of the glass.

"Impressive. What makes you think I would hire you?"

Bethany ticked her qualifications off on her fingers. "I have the sight, I have a car, I have knowledge, I will be available to drive you at any time, and I really want this job."

He thought of a few more qualifications, but kept them to himself. Constantine found the combination her beauty with her obvious intelligence rare and enticing, and wouldn't mind having her as an apprentice.

"Let me see your driver's license." He ought to make sure she wasn't lying before getting his hopes up. She produced her ID.

After briefly examining it, he looked up at her. "This isn't fake."

She looked back at him with a furrowed brow. "No, no it's not...?"

"You're definitely not old enough to be in a bar without a fake ID." He examined it closer. She was born in 1990. "This says you're seventeen."

"Yeah. I've been able to do this for a while. If I show someone my ID, I can mentally persuade them of what it says. I project what I want to onto my license, when I need to."

Constantine was mildly impressed by this display of an intuitive psychic ability for illusion. If she had previous formal training in the occult, she would know this skill by name. He concluded that she was inexperienced, but she seemed to be a quick learn. He decided he needed to further test her sight.

He removed the lighter and cigarettes from his pocket. "If you can tell me what I have in my jacket pocket, the job is yours."

"But—"

"Even if you don't think you can, just try. Close your eyes and concentrate."

Bethany did as he said. She closed her eyes and focused her thoughts on the contents of his jacket pocket. After a moment, she felt a concentrated location of negativity. It was very dense and very small. The negative sensations of dread and the will to harm were amplified by its deceptively innocuous appearance.

She opened her eyes and looked at Constantine quizzically.

"Go ahead," he nudged.

"Small and dangerous... no sharp edges, no fire... it's a lethal weapon."

He removed a small, beautiful amber stone out of his jacket pocket. Black veins streaked inward toward the heart of the oval stone. "This is a culling stone. It's from Africa. It's used to remove the suffering, the deranged, and the dangerous. To kill someone with this, I simply have to will it. Of course, without the culling key, it's relatively harmless."

Bethany took it in her hands. "Relatively?"

"It could still dent a skull."

She put it down. "Right."

He hadn't yet gotten this far in any of his eight or ten interviews. He didn't think he would after this, lit a new cigarette, and even dared to let a smile slip. "Okay, the job's yours."

"...That's all?"

"That's all." He took two black and nondescript cell phones out of his pants pocket and slid one across the table to her. "This is to be devoted entirely to the job. No unrelated outbound or inbound calls. Keep it on and with you at all times. The only number on there is my cell phone, which is devoted entirely to this job."

She nodded and put the cell phone away, and as Constantine did the same, it vibrated.

He answered it immediately. After a few moments, he repeated an address. "1450 North Benedict." As he said it he pointed to Bethany, indicated for her to remember it. "Got it." He closed his phone.

"It's your first night on the job. Let's go."

* * *

Thank you for reading. Constructive criticism is never taken personally, so criticize away! Reviews are appreciated. 


	2. ii

Constantine meticulously buckled his seatbelt in Bethany's black 2006 Nissan Maxima and eyed her. "Are you sure you're safe to drive?"

"Of course. I only had a glass... and a half... of wine," she nodded, trying to reassure him, but failing. "High tolerance. Trust me."

As she put her car into reverse, Constantine made sure his seatbelt was secure. After accelerating out of the parking space too quickly and breaking just as fast to compensate, she managed to find her way onto the road.

Constantine closed his eyes to ignore Bethany's driving. "We will meet two hours a day Monday through Thursday, and Saturday for one hour at St. Mercy Cathedral. That's your apprenticeship." He paused. "You will not attend exorcisms until you're ready."

The wheel jerked slightly. "What? Why?"

John took a drag. He knew she wouldn't be particularly fond of this part. "Until you're able to help me, you're just a distraction and a liability."

"A liability?"

"Bethany, you don't just kick back and pry a demon off of someone's soul." He flicked his spent cigarette out of a cracked window as punctuation. "These demons are pissed off. They don't want to be sent back to hell and they fight to keep it that way."

A moment of silence passed. "Okay," she finally said. "So... I wait outside while you do your exorcist stuff."

"Exactly."

-

They arrived at the location where the exorcism was to take place, which was a modern- and expensive-looking suburban house on the edge of the Hills. Constantine left the car without a word of goodbye. He left his door slightly ajar.

"Jeez," Bethany muttered. She reached over and slammed the door. Constantine, walking up the sloping, manicured lawn, showed no sign of notice.

Bethany was sober now. She turned the engine off but left the radio going, and, frustrated, jabbed a few buttons to try and find some good music. Constantine's standoffish attitude was frustrating. She knew he tended to detach himself from humanity, which was kind of odd, she mused, considering performing exorcisms was a way of bettering humanity. She knew that he wasn't friendly, and told herself not to take it personally.

She didn't want to come off as weak to him, though. If she just succumbed under his apparent callousness, then she would be nothing in his eyes. Standing up to him would be the only way to confront this issue. Bethany found a radio station she liked, grinned, and turned up the music.

-

Father Hennessey opened the door as Constantine approached. The din of faint cries and crashes echoed through the large foyer.

"Father," he said. "I told you I was interviewing tonight. Unavailable."

"He's violent; he's not going to last like this." He paused. "You came, didn't you?"

Constantine lit a cigarette, inhaled, and muttered, "It's not like I have a choice," before brushing past him, upstairs, toward the commotion.

He followed the noise, Hennessey not far behind, and as he approached the door of the possessed room, he heard a dull thudding, not unlike the sound of a match enveloped in cotton.

The cries and screaming grew louder, and the rhythmic beating increased as well. With every step, the din amplified. Finally he reached the door and threw it open. Distorted guitars wailed from the open window. The room was dark, but sweltering hot, even on the cool evening with a sea breeze drafting through the room.

The possessed boy was tied into the bed with electrical wires and extension cords. The boy thrashed so hard and so wildly that the cords had to be pulled terribly tight to keep him bound. The cords acted as tourniquets, and the boy's hands and feet had turned a ghastly bluish tinge.

Constantine stalked to the window and pulled off the blinds to reveal Bethany in her car throbbing with music and a full moon partially obscured by clouds. With a small decorated triangular mirror, he concentrated and reflected the moonlight onto the boy's face. He hissed and spit blood in Constantine's direction, in obvious pain.

Hennessey stepped forward and threw drops of holy water from a flask onto him. The demon inside the boy screeched and writhed more furiously. The water steamed off of the boy's hot skin and face, leaving welts.

He procured a thin metal cross and began muttering a prayer over the violently thrashing body.

"Not yet!" Constantine yelled over the music. The moon slipped behind the cover of clouds, and the beam of moonlight weakened. "Hennessey, wait!"

The priest stopped his prayer. The boy grinned slowly, and let out a guttural laugh.

Constantine wiped the sweat off of his forehead, and cursed the infuriating demon and the distracting teenager under his breath. The moon slipped even deeper behind the clouds. He abandoned the mirror, and flipped on all the lights in the room. Only the closet light and a table lamp turned on; the cords of the others had been used to bind the possessed boy. Though the artificial light was not nearly as potent as moonlight, the boy spit in anger at the pain it caused him.

"Hennessey, which prayer?" Constantine did not usually bother with the prayers, but the fearful Hennessey would not be able to pull this off on his own.

He stumbled over his words. "The, uh, the Saint Cyriacus prayer… _Kyrie, eleison_," he began.

"In English." Constantine couldn't manage the Latin prayers as well. "_Lord, have mercy on us_."

They recited together. "_Lord, have mercy on this boy for whom we pray. Have mercy on his soul. Saint Cyriacus, invoked against demonic possessions. Saint Cyriacus, protect and help this boy. Lord, have mercy on his soul_._ In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen._"

The demon writhed slower and slower throughout the prayer, as if it considerably weakened him. Father Hennessey made the sign of the cross, and then splashed holy water on the boy in the shape of a cross. The boy's back arched in intense pain as the demon inside the boy screamed. The scream was entirely otherworldly, and completely drowned out the music. It seemed to have more than one pitch, both high and low at the same time. When the scream ended, the music was off, and Bethany and the boy's family were at the door. The boy had passed out.

After a moment of awed silence, broken only by the gasping sobs of the parents, Constantine brushed off his jacket and turned to Bethany. "Untie him, will you?" He picked up his mirror and left the room.


End file.
